


Zu'u los Dovahkiin

by Trashole



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Headcanon, Lore friendly, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-07 07:54:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7706641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trashole/pseuds/Trashole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of an unlikely hero, that never even wanted to be one, and all of the challenges he faces on his way. Technically not Alternative universe! I hope that won't scare anyone away. Basically my Skyrim headcanon that I have been building up since I got the game at release date. I thought it was about time to write it down. </p><p>It is rated E since there will be very explicit stuff later on, for now it's pretty general. I do a bit of canon divergence in my story, but my story remains 100% lore friendly as I care a lot about lore. I hope to go a really long way with this. Tags will be added with chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The beginning to an end

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the divergence in my story includes the main questline and a few others too, else it's mostly stuff like: Cities being way bigger than they are in game as well as Skyrim being much bigger. It is what I'd think of as realistic. 
> 
> Note the dragonborn is only referred to as he so far, name and more of his appearance will be revealed later, hope it doesn't throw anyone off.

Shrouded in darkness, curled up like a ball, shaking, frightened and powerless. When had a night not been like this? He couldn't remember, it was not a choice, it was simply how it was. If he hid himself, he wouldn't take his anger out on him again. He felt like a coward hiding, but his pride as a Nord had been shattered long ago.

He wouldn't have minded his mother's decision to remarry, if it hadn't been to such a good-for-nothing, lazy horker that was Kaare. When Kaare began beating him, his mother had tried to step up for him, futile of course, and it only earned her beatings too. That man was vile, vulgar and disgustingly suggestive, so it didn't come as a surprise when Kaare said; “If you don't want your son harmed, lay with me".

His mother had no choice but to comply, she didn't want to see her son suffer. He tried to stop him, to protect his mother, but a small scrawny excuse for a Nord that he was, he couldn't even win a fight against a mudcrab.

He was absolutely worthless, couldn't even protect his mother, sometimes Kaare wouldn't be satisfied, and he'd still beat him and his mother. Today had been such a day, the blood was still dripping from his nose, the unmistakable taste of iron in his mouth. He licked his upper lip and winced, it had been cracked, he had bruises all over and couldn't get up. Kaare’s roaring like thunder still filled the small shed that they called home.

After several minutes, but what seemed like hours had passed, he quieted down. He hoped he hadn't hurt his mother too much, though she didn't seem to care when Kaare hurt him anymore, looking the other way. It was like he wasn't her son anymore, he was a nuisance, he was the cause of disturbance, he couldn't stand up for himself, pathetic, weak.

That's what he told himself at least, what else could it be? Why wasn't his dad alive, why did he have to go and die in that pointless war! As soon as got the chance, he left him and his mother to go to Windhelm where he proclaimed loyalty to Ulfric Stormcloak. He'd always hated politics, it was necessary of course, but he despised the way people could never see eye to eye.

Only three months had passed when a courier came to their doorstep in the outskirts of Dawnstar, with that faithful letter, informing them of his father's death. The letter said his body couldn't be retrieved, so he didn't get a proper burial, he probably laid frozen solid somewhere or was turned into ash and dust on a pyre. His mother was never the same after that, and yet she chose to remarry merely two months later, perhaps she got tired of being labeled as the grieving widow. He didn't know, he thought it strange and it baffled him, but he chose not to make inquiries. They needed some extra income, Kaare, like his father had, worked in the Iron-Breaker mine. A job he couldn't handle, his physique and endurance failing him. Instead he made a spare amount of septims filleting fish when the fishermen came into port. However, he scarcely stepped out of the door anymore, too many curious eyes asking the questions their mouths couldn't. He'd once tried to tell a passing guard about the violence that occurred, only to be shooed away as the guard had more “ _important_ ” things to do. Drinking his brains out and chasing after some unfortunate ladies was what it was, how the Jarl could have such guards defending the city and its citizens was way beyond his comprehension.

He sighed lowly to himself, his breath was cold and icy, it would be a freezing night and he only had his bedroll.

He rose on trembling legs and supported himself on the wall as he slowly walked towards the bedroll, the blood had coagulated and he wiped the now black substance off with his sleeve. He reached his bedroll and crawled into it, trying to make himself comfortable whilst avoiding the worst of pains. It was all quiet now, except for some rustling outside, probably a snow fox looking for some food scraps. Eyelids too heavy to stay open any longer, he gave into sleep.

_Fire, everything was burning, big black shadow above him, closing in on him until it was dark. Then light came, he was looking up at the sky, or so he thought, he didn't remember seeing both the sun and the stars at the same time, yet they shone side by side, Masser and Secunda nowhere to be seen. The sun’s intensity increasing, he felt like it was watching him, observing him, until everything went white, ravens emerged from nothingness, flocking around him, staring at him silently, time slowed down. A wall too high to be scaled emerged from the ground, the ravens reduced to only feathers, a flash of light, an eye, water, the ocean, ash, dust and snow, all was distorted. A hand reaching out to grab his own, only to vanish as the fingertips touched, green miasma, words floating around. Ice and snow, the stars faded, dawn, crimson and gold colours clashing, blood, withering. What was happening? He couldn't move, locked in place, claws like iron gripping him, pushing, holding him down, he fought, he screamed, he was in pain, immense pain. It dissipated, felt nothing except his own heartbeat. Then he was calm, he flew, he was in the sky, then he tore it apart, thunder. Fulfilled but empty, he saw without eyes, he heard without ears, he spoke without words, he felt without touching, a tower, and the world revolved around him, spinning, faster and faster, until it was still, completely still, **he was still.**_

He woke, confused and sweating despite the piercing chill of the small room, he felt flushed, maybe he had gotten a fever during the night, would explain his vivid dream. What in Oblivion was that about? He couldn't recall the specific details, only bits and pieces, not sure whether he was thankful for that or not.

He ruffled his hair and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before he worked his way out of his bedroll, it was still slightly dark outside, the sun hadn't yet fully claimed the land from the night's grasp.

He heard loud snoring coming from the only other bedroom, no one was up yet, except for himself, he wasn't feeling particularly hungry yet, so he got up, and as silently as possible, put on his worn fur boots, gloves and coat, and headed out in the fresh morning breeze for a stroll. Not caring if he looked like someone who'd been mauled by a sabrecat.

He followed the rough narrow dirt path that lead around the border of town, he wanted to avoid as many people as possible, not that many were up and about this early.

It had been an unusually cold night when considering it was the middle of Last Seed, there was a thin coat of snow on the ground, thankfully it hadn't been snowing much the past few months.

The summer had been quite pleasant this year, and even a city as far north as Dawnstar hadn't suffered as much as usual, he had even heard Winterhold had experienced a whole week without snow.

He actually felt quite at peace, and the thought of returning home didn't sit well with him, he didn't want to go back. Why should he? They didn't even need him there! He was just there to be beaten, he didn't even get to keep a single one of the septims he made… But where on Tamriel could he go? A milk-drinker like himself wouldn't make it far, he had no gold to pay a ship fare, or a carriage driver. He was stuck, like a skeever in cage.

His mind had trailed off track, and so had his feet from the path, he found himself among tall bushes of snowberries. He turned around and bumped into something very solid, most certainly armour, lost his footing and fell down onto his end.

“Woah you okay there kid?”. He heard an unfamiliar and weird voice say, he looked up to meet the gaze of a concerned khajiit. He didn't really enjoy the kid part, he'd seen his 17th winter, he was more of a man, though his appearance didn't live up to that. So he let it slide, “Uh.. yeah I'm alright”, he replied and was helped up by the khajiit.

He'd never actually spoken with one before, he'd seen the caravans set up camp, but didn't come near. His father had always told him they were not to be trusted, they were thieving rabble and liars.

“What are you doing here?”, he warily asked the cat-man. “Err, sorry, Kharjo had to take a piss before he went with the caravan again, he was on his way back when you bumped into him”, he answered with a small smile. He gave a nod and was about to walk past him as Kharjo grabbed his arm. “You do realise you look pretty bad? Who has done this?”, the khajiit gestured to his bruised face. “Why'd you care?”, he said coldly trying to seem intimidating. “Because you shouldn't go starting fights you can't win”, he didn't need to be lectured by a stranger on something he hadn't even done. “I started no fights! It's my mother's husband alright?”, Kharjo glanced over his bruises, it made him feel even weaker than he already was.

“Come, khajiit can fix it for you”, Kharjo said and tugged at his arm, and strangely enough, he just complied and followed the khajiit, curiosity winning over caution.

Kharjo led him to their near packed up encampment in front of the main road into the city, three other khajiit was present and he started to feel mildly uncomfortable with the situation. “Ahkari, can you patch up this young lad?”, Kharjo asked a female. “What did you do now Kharjo?”, she laughed as she too looked over his bruises, “Well, I see no harm in doing that", she patted down at the animal furs, suggesting him to sit, which he did hesitantly.

Ahkari grabbed a piece of cloth from a nearby pile, and dipped it in a red bottle. She then gently rubbed the remnants of blood away from his face and ran lightly over the crack of his lip with the cloth. His face contorted in pain, “Don't worry, it was dipped in a healing potion, it speeds up the healing process, doesn't look like there's much else I can do for you, unless you have wounds anywhere else?”, she inquired.

“No.. just some minor injuries, none of them bleeding though…”, he responded cautiously. “Khajiit is always glad to be of service”, he heard Kharjo say behind him. “Well we must get going now, Riften awaits us”, Akhari added as she got up and put a cork back on the bottle.

Then he said those words that would change his, and many other's lives forever; “Can I come with you?” 


	2. Curiosity over Caution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter won't be too boring, bear with any grammar mistakes

“Can I come with you?”, the words resonated in Kharjo’s mind. “No, no, no, you can't go, why would you suggest coming with khajiit? Don't you have a mother, or siblings?” Kharjo argued with a shake of his head. 

It was a selfish and sudden request, he just wanted to go, there was no reason for him to stay and he ached to see more of the world he lived in. “A mother that wouldn't care if her husband beat me into a bloody pulp, and no, no siblings”, he had always thought it strange, how he was an only child. It was beyond him why his parents didn't have another child, especially when the one they had was as pathetic as him.

“No, if the guards saw you with khajiit, there's no telling what they'd do! They might think we kidnapped you, I like my fur on me better than on the floor of some nobleman...”, Kharjo’s face twisted at the thought. 

“I don't exactly look like a damsel in distress now do I? I'll just come with you until Riften, then I'll find my own way from there”

“A bird shouldn't fly out of the nest if its wings can't carry it”, Ahkari joined in. “I know I'm weak, but staying here won't change anything”, he was almost reduced to begging at this point, and honestly he'd do it if he had to. “It doesn't bother me if he comes with us”, a third voice remarked. “Zaynabi you honestly think this would be okay?”, Kharjo turned to look at her. “Would you rather leave him to abuse?”

Both Kharjo and Ahkari went quiet, “Only until Riften… and then he's on his own, though leaving a kid doesn't feel right…” Ahkari sighed. “I'm not a kid! I'm old enough to be on my own, believe it or not", he snapped back. If someone would just give him a chance, maybe he would actually be worth more than what everyone thought. 

“Then pack your things and meet us here, we won't stay long so be quick about it!” Ahkari ordered. “No need, I have everything I own here”, so he said, although that wasn't quite true. He had a few belongings, but none that mattered all too much, he figured he could live without them. 

Besides, he didn't have too much desire to go back home and risk being stopped. Ahkari gave him a sceptical look, though wanting to discuss no further, she just shrugged and packed the last of her stuff.

“Well, if we'll be traveling with you, we need to call you something, got a name?” Kharjo asked him. “It's Brand, sorry I didn't introduce myself before”, Brand said and lowered his head. “So, you  **_are_ ** a Nord”, the emphasis Kharjo put on are didn't sit well with him. He knew he was short and scrawny for a Nord, but it still hurt that tiny shard of pride he had left. Yet he made sure not to let it show, because he got why they'd be in doubt.

“Your Nord names sound like you have a potato in your mouth, no offense, Kharjo just can't understand how you manage to speak like that", he said with a lighthearted laughter.

“None taken Kharjo”, Brand replied with a small smile. “So should we get going, all packed up?” Ahkari asked and looked around. “Yes, let's hit the road!” Kharjo said and hurriedly signaled them to leave. Brand took one last glance over his hometown before he turned around and started walking. Guilt suddenly jabbed him in the chest, guilt for leaving his mother behind, yet his gut told him she'd be fine. Not only fine, but better off without him, it was a horrible thing to think about yourself, but Brand knew there was nothing left for him in that town. 

So he left.

Brand and the khajiit caravan walked all day, not meeting many on their way, not many came to Dawnstar by summer's end. They only stopped when twilight approached, and so they set up camp.

He had been introduced to the caravan’s fourth member, his name was Dro’marash, not quite the talkative guy, hence why he had been so silent during the discussion.

Ahkari told Brand many stories of Elsweyr and Cyrodiil at their campfire, it all sounded so wonderful, he hoped that one day he could visit those places. Kharjo had tales to tell too,  he gave Brand a lesson in hand-to-hand combat, though he got the theory right, in practice it was much more challenging however.

Lucky for him, the caravan had an extra bedroll with them, when Brand said he had everything he owned with him, they probably thought he slept on their floor or in a haystack. It was a cold night again, he could feel the chill through the bedroll. He'd always considered it strange how he was so susceptible to the cold, taking his Nord blood in consideration. Perhaps it would come if he got a bit bulkier, not that his health or endurance had ever let him. But sleep soon took him, and soothing dreams followed.

When he woke, the others were already eating breakfast, some sort of stew they'd stirred up. “We'll have to stop by Darkwater Crossing to trade for some supplies”, Ahkari told Brad as he sat down on a rock. “Well.. that's alright of course! Though I'm not entirely sure what it is…”, he admitted.

“It's a mining settlement, we need some ore samples”, Ahkari explained to him. He nodded and dug into the bowl of stew he'd taken. “We leave as soon as camp’s packed up”, she added and put out the fire. Seemed like he wouldn't get seconds. When he finished he helped pack up camp, and they were soon on the move once more.

After some hours of walking, they finally neared the settlement, smoke rising up from the smelters. Ahkari and Zaynabi met with some of the miners, Kharjo had told him it would probably take a while. They wanted a fair deal and that could be quite hard, as they were khajiits He'd told Brand he could take a look around while he waited.

He'd gotten bored of waiting however, he had a tendency to either get completely lost in his thoughts or be close to the border of insanity. So he did something he shouldn't have done, not if it had been up to him at least, he went out of the settlement to find a cure for his boredom. He wandered around for a bit until he heard shouting and sword clashing, his curiosity was piqued and so he crept closer to where the sounds was coming from. He poked his head out from a behind rock and only reached to see a brief image of soldiers surrendering, when he felt a powerful blow to his head that knocked him clear out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brand is not pronounced in the English way you'd say brand, but rather it's from the Danish word Brand that means a fire, it was also an old norse name, get Google translator to say it out loud of you need.
> 
> I really hope this is going in the right direction.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if it was boring to read, I have never actually posted a written work anywhere before. I also apologise for any grammatical errors, I wrote this on my phone, and I'll proofread later when it's not past midnight. 
> 
> I hope it's somewhat enjoyable to read at least :/


End file.
